A sandstorm gathers on a distant plateau. Winds of vengeance pursue me, as I continue towards the fading afterglow. My body aches, my steps unsteady. A lifetime of memories—few pleasant, the rest, not so—and a six-shooter, are all that I possess.

I stand on barren ground before a lost headstone. The name is indistinct. But I knew him well. A childhood friend. We ran as ruffians, finding our way into manhood. And, in our heyday, two of the most feared outlaw gunmen on the plains.

But they struck him down. Like a dog. Lawmen, vigilantes--rough men, like us. So I struck them down. Like dogs. And their families too.

Revenge is a curious thing. It tastes like death. But in time, it turns. Not into something good, mind you, but necessary. Something like rations. You can’t live without it. Keeps you going. Day after day. For a lifetime.​And it keeps them going. Day after day. For a lifetime.